Strangers
by BaskervilleBeauty
Summary: One Shot. There are Strangers in Spinner's End, and Mrs Herbert doesn't like it one bit.


_Author's Notes: To all those who reviewed "chapter 10" of Compitalia: Holy Anger, Batman! I was both flattered and shocked by the strong feelings in your responses (this goes out to you, Dorothy). I am sure they have more to do with your raw emotion for the book than for my story. For me, the sign of a good fanfiction is if it convincingly extrapolates its characters from what we know of them from canon. Since HBP has irreversibly changed what we know (or what we hoped) for all of my main characters for that story, it has to remain unfinished. However, to pacify you (and the plot bunny who has been fiendishly gnawing at me since Sunday night), here is a little one-shot set in Chapter 2 of HBP._

**Strangers **

Mrs Herbert was just about to make her regular cup of tea. The kettle, blackened and misshapen from years of use, sat steaming on the stovetop, and a chipped mug was already on the table, its pattern of pink flowers clashing violently with the red-and-green checkered vinyl tablecloth. Just then, a sudden series of bangs from next door startled her and sent the tin of tea she had been holding tumbling from her gnarled, wizened hands onto the dirty linoleum. She clucked and with a grunt and a sigh went searching for the dust pan.

Rummaging in the dark crevices under the kitchen sink, her arm covered with dust and cobwebs, Mrs. Herbert grimaced as another muffled noise sounded through the thin wall. It had been like this for months, ever since those two men moved into the house next door. There was simply never any peace. Some days it was quiet, but even then, one had to be careful, because noxious fumes leaked through the walls. More than once, Mrs. Herbert had breathed them in and felt very funny indeed afterwards. On other days, there were these bangs and scuffling, as though animals were stampeding. And speaking of animals, she was sure she had heard scurrying in her walls, and there were droppings in her flour; she was sure those two had brought rodents!

Yes, there was something very strange about her neighbours, Mrs. Herbert thought, as she retrieved the dustpan at last, and dropped heavily to her knees to sweep up the tea from the yellowing floor. Mrs. Thomas down the way said she didn't like the look of them at all, and Mr Barnes, the grocer told her to watch herself around them. Mrs Herbert had known those two all her life, and if her friends were warning her, she knew better than to ignore them.

Downright odd, those two. She didn't even know their names; they'd never bothered introducing themselves, and there was never any mail, so the postman couldn't tell her anything. She wondered if they weren't criminals, seeing as they were able to avoid the bills that plagued everyone else. Maybe they were spies, like in those films she used to love to watch after the war.

Grunting and heaving herself up over the sink again, Mrs Herbert peered out through her grimy window into the garden. The retaining wall had cracked and fallen in one place, and she could just see over the crumbling bricks to next door. Everything was deathly still, as though it had been abandoned. The garden, like the house, had been neglected, just left to rot away, even as its occupants lived there. It was the last house in the row, tucked away from view, and the others on the street were hardly better, with their windows boarded up and the paint peeling away on the window sashes, but even if you had an ounce of self-respect, you wouldn't just ignore your home altogether!

Oh, she had been hopeful for them at first. Not many people wanted to move to this part of the world, especially not men of working age, what with the mill being closed. Most people couldn't wait to leave; it was only the ones who had nowhere else to go that were left here. So when those two appeared one day, she was optimistic. Homosexuals were interested in decorating, she was told. They might do a bit of gardening, maybe paint the door and windows, and make the place look presentable again. Be an example to the others. And as long as they didn't go kissing each other in public, she didn't much mind them living next to her.

She even felt sorry for the short one. He was a bit of a cripple, she gathered; he was always clutching his arm like it was a prosthetic limb. He seemed nice enough, he was always smiling, anyway. But there was something in his face that she didn't like. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but it was like she just couldn't trust him.

The other one… well, he was a different story. Tall and pale, he had long black hair like one of those homeless hooligan youths that they showed in London on the evening news. Except this one was older, and he always wore black, and walked quickly, so that nobody could stop him or speak to him. He had looked at her once, with those terrible eyes, and she felt a little light-headed, and resolved not to repeat that experience. It was because of him that she lived in fear. She couldn't very well go over and talk to them about the noise and the rats; they didn't seem like the people you'd make puddings for.

Mrs. Herbert sat at the table and gazed sadly at her abandoned mug. The tea was ruined now, and she didn't have any strength to go down to the shop to get more. Although she did need some butter, too… She sighed. There was nothing for it, she'd have to go.

She waddled down the narrow corridor to the front hall, pulling her threadbare coat over her lumpy shoulders. She paused by the mirror, and smoothed her grey hair with her palm. Her hand on the latch, she squinted through the cracked frosted glass in the door, making sure there wasn't anyone out in the street.

Turning the key in the lock, Mrs Herbert stepped out and began walking briskly down the cobblestone lane to the shop. It was getting late, and Mr Barnes would want to close up. He had a family to get home to, a wife and a son. He couldn't just sit there waiting for customers.

That was another thing about those two next door. Didn't they work? She never heard them leave in the morning, and it wasn't for lack of listening. Her ears were sore from the effort that first week, and the week after that. She'd given up now; they simply never left.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. They did emerge every once in a while, the tall one practically frog-marching the short one down the street, then striding back home far in front, huge hooked nose high in the air, eyebrows furrowed darkly, while his partner struggled behind him with the weight of the sacks of groceries. And sometimes, they would disappear altogether. She could tell from the silence next door, even though she never saw them leave the house, and there was no car to take them away.

Yes, it was all very strange, she thought, as she passed the plastic bag carrying her tea and butter and some chocolate (an impulse buy) from her left hand to her right, and bade goodbye to Mr Barnes. As she turned the corner, she could hear him closing the shutters of his storefront. Darkness had fallen, and the streetlamps sputtered to life. She hurried her footsteps a bit, relishing the idea of some tea and buttered toast, with perhaps a bit of chocolate in front of the telly. The thought warmed her inside, even as she shivered in the rising fog coming from the river.

She turned the collar of her coat up against the unpleasantly cold mist, and as she did so, she froze. There were two figures, half-running, half-walking, one behind the other, down the alley that led to her street, Spinner's End. Even though they were wearing long hooded robes, she could tell they were worried about being seen; and so Mrs Herbert followed them, thanking god that her orthodic shoes had soft soles and she didn't make a sound, even as her short, plump legs struggled to keep up after the two strangers.

They made their way to the bottom of Spinner's End, to the last house. She paused in the darkness, her heart pounding, clutching her bag of food to her chest. Yes, it was just as she had guessed: her two neighbours had visitors. As the door opened, they looked around them, checking to make sure they were not followed. With a little gasp, Mrs Herbert sank back into the fence. The two cloaked figures were definitely women, one dark, the other fair. In an instant, Mrs. Herbert's life became like something out of those dreadful murder mysteries broadcast on Sunday nights.

She told herself to go inside, make some tea. Her gut was twisted with fear, the kind of fear she hadn't felt since she was a girl in the war, and the Germans were dropping bombs overhead. There was no cause for alarm, she reasoned. Why should two strange women visiting her mysterious neighbours make her feel so frightened? And yet, she stood rooted to the spot, her heart beating out the seconds, then minutes. Her knees began to ache, a dull, fuzzy sort of pain, and she shivered again. The fog swirled upwards, licking the lone lamp dimly illuminating the street.

Now there were strange lights coming from the slit in the curtains in the front room of the last house, and voices, cries. Mrs Thomas would know what that was about; she should call her. The thought roused her from her paralysis, and she started across the street, determined to get to her house, to her kitchen, to her telephone, where she could make herself a cup of tea, and confide to Mrs Thomas what trouble her new neighbours were causing, what she had seen and heard. She was half-way across the street when the door of the last house opened, throwing a milky path of yellow light across the narrow lane. Mrs Herbert stopped, arrested in her tracks, and stared as the two hooded figures re-emerged.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" said one, in a low voice.

"Bella…" said the other, the fair one, in a half-pleading, half-warning tone.

"Shut up, Cissy," snapped the first. "It's a Muggle," she purred, stepping forward to Mrs Herbert, who had frozen again, her eyes wide open and unblinking.

"Hello, dear," the dark one called Bella continued, all the while stepping slowly toward Mrs. Herbert. "A lovely night, isn't it?"

Mrs Herbert shook her head, because all her nerves were screaming that there was something wrong, that she should run, that this woman was dangerous. Bella was so close now, that Mrs Herbert could see the madness in her heavily lidded eyes. Desperately, she broke the woman's gaze, and looked back at the house. The fair woman named Cissy, the short man with the pointy nose and the watery eyes, and the tall man with the scowling face all stood on the steps, watching. The tall man had his arms crossed. The short one was twitching slightly; he looked excited and nervous. Cissy just stood there, her chin held high, but her arms limp at her sides, as though she was exhausted from some great and noble effort. Mrs Herbert opened her mouth; she was going to say something, although she wasn't sure whether it would be an excuse, or a cry for help.

But Bella had already raised her hand, and in it she held a strange sort of pointed stick.

"Avada Kedavra," was the last thing Mrs Herbert heard before the darkness took her.

_Fin_


End file.
